


First

by MeansToOffend (goodmorning)



Series: Pick Me Up [9]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017-2018 NHL Season, M/M, New York Islanders, Pick-Up Lines, fuckbuddies to lovers i guess?, really this story is only about john tavares sorry, vaguely implied barz/beau because all the other isles fic is leaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 17:44:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14117586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmorning/pseuds/MeansToOffend
Summary: "John hums, considering. Later, he’ll wonder if there was subtext to this, how much of an open secret his sexuality is to the rest of the league, but for now he just shrugs. “Sure, why not? I’ll probably have some rookies to pick up, anyway.”"





	First

He’s not home much in the summers, and Stromer has other people to spend time with than the guy he’s just spent the whole season with, but John sometimes needs to blow off steam from summer training and Stromer’s pent up from having to wear his “wise, experienced older brother” hat. This is how John ends up blowing Stromer on his very nice couch in the very nice living room of the very nice house that he only spends a few months in every year.

They’re not dating. They don’t do romantic gestures or expensive gifts, don’t touch each other in public, aren’t monogamous or committed. It’s just stress relief, and, honestly, John knows it’s mostly a favour to him. It’s not easy staying closeted as a gay athlete; putting himself out there - with all the cameras, the internet, being the face of the franchise - would inevitably lead to being outed.

John, though, is one of those people who uses sex to de-stress, and he’d long since resigned himself to a lot of long showers when Stromer joined the team and immediately said, “You know, I’m bisexual as fuck, so if you ever need a fuckbuddy…” John still doesn’t know who’d told him, though he suspects Stammer and PK had something to do with it, and while he’d rather they hadn’t, he has to admit he likes the outcome.

So now he’s here, kneeling between Stromer’s thighs, trying to make him forget he even _has_ brothers, when a phone starts ringing.

“I have to take this,” Stromer says, frowning. If John were more creative or less careful, he might keep going. But he’s not, so he doesn’t. “Edmonton?” Stromer asks. “Then who-?” He pauses. “I see. Thanks,” he says, and hangs up. “I’m an Oiler now,” he says, expressionlessly.

“Then who-?” John asks.

“Eberle,” Stromer tells him. He spreads his legs a little, imploringly, and John may be a bit boring, but he can take a hint.

\--

Later, Stromer is scrolling through his texts when he stops and looks at John. “Davo says Eberle’s a good guy, and you should meet him at the airport.”

John hums, considering. Later, he’ll wonder if there was subtext to this, how much of an open secret his sexuality is to the rest of the league, but for now he just shrugs. “Sure, why not? I’ll probably have some rookies to pick up, anyway.”

\--

It turns out he doesn’t, but maybe this is for the best - he doesn’t want Ebs to feel like he has to prove himself, despite what the Edmonton media have said, and he doesn’t want to come out to any rookies, to distract them while they try to make the roster. But Ebs will be here for a while, possibly even on John’s wing, and John would prefer to tell him right away.

He’s seen Ebs on the ice, maybe once or twice across a faceoff dot, but that’s the ice. Everyone looks just a little wrong out there, too broad, too tall, too pale and tired and smooth, with mouthguard smiles too bright. And the last time he’d seen Ebs off the ice was in the Team Canada locker room, five years ago; people look different when they’re drenched in sweat, and five years is a long time, in hockey. So when Ebs makes it to the baggage claim, John’s not really sure what he expects, but it’s definitely not this.

The thing is - Stromer’s not unattractive, face pale and a little angular, frame long and, for a hockey player, lean; but Ebs is _hot_ , tired eyes and colour in his cheeks, pulling off the scruffy look much better than John. It’s kind of sad that all he can think is how much he wants to hit that.

Ebs spots him, smiles and waves, and John goes over to his baggage carousel. “It’s nice to meet you again,” Ebs says, extending a hand. John shakes it.

He should, at this point, return the greeting, or at least reel off his “Welcome to the Island” speech, but his brain is still stuck on sex, and he can only think of coming out. He has a couple different versions of it: there’s the “it’s fine if you like men because I, your captain, do too,” the “by the way, I’m gay, so if you have a problem you’d better keep it quiet,” and, memorably, the “I’m flattered but this is _not the place_.” 

Usually, though, he just says it, tries not to make it a big thing, so he has no idea what the fuck he’s thinking when he looks Ebs straight in the eye and asks, “Do you believe in love at first sight, or do I have to walk by again?”

He can feel himself flushing, unsure what face he’s making, but, to his credit, Ebs just laughs. “I don’t know about love, and this definitely isn’t first sight, but I wouldn’t mind watching you walk away.”

“Oh, good,” John says. A buzzer goes off, and the carousel lurches into motion.

\--

“Just to be clear, fuckbuddies, right?” Ebs asks, stuffing his suitcases in John’s trunk and his sticks in the backseat.

“Yep,” John says, easily. “Stress relief, you know?”

“I could definitely use some of that,” Ebs says. It’s joking enough but it also rings too true. John takes a minute to be thankful he’s an Islander, because even if he is a good Canadian boy, he’s not sorry to play far from the Canadian media.

“I hear that,” he says, much too late, as he pulls into the hotel’s parking garage.

Ebs unbuckles his seatbelt. John puts a hand on his shoulder before he opens the door. Ebs just looks at him, and John trails his fingers up the line of Ebs’ neck, scratches the ball of his thumb along the stubble at his jawline.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” Ebs asks, and John kisses him, hot, rough, sloppy, like Ebs isn’t going to pass out from jet-lag and exhaustion the second they get him checked in. Ebs gives back as good as he’s getting, tightening one hand in John’s just-long-enough hair, which - John groans, a bit, at the sensation, and he’ll unpack that later, but Ebs lets him go, shoves him gently back into his seat, pats his shoulder.

“We have shit to do,” he points out. John almost misses the words - Ebs’ face is very distracting. He does, however, have a point, and John is nothing if not responsible, so he grabs Ebs’ two suitcases, Ebs takes his gear, and they just manage to get him a room key and take all his shit there before he does, in fact, pass out from jet-lag and exhaustion.

John, ever the good captain, takes Ebs’ shoes off and throws the duvet over him, leaving quietly.

\--

Barz and Beau arrive at roughly the same time, which is convenient; John wants to make this trip as rarely as possible, so he doesn’t ask how they just-so-happened to book flights from BC and Quebec, respectively, that just-so-happened to touch down within fifteen minutes of each other. 

They both sit in the back, like he’s their taxi driver or something, but he doesn’t say anything, just turns up the radio, tries not to eavesdrop, and definitely doesn’t look behind him.

\--

As luck would have it, October goes pretty well. John doesn’t really _need_ Ebs more than twice, but ends up having him over far more often than that. This is partially because Ebs claims to need _him_ a lot, to work off the adrenaline of good games. It’s also because John, as the captain, wants to make sure Ebs feels like he fits in, even if half the fitting he’s doing involves his dick and - well. Mostly, it’s simply because John finds Ebs both attractive and good in bed; he wants to sleep with him, and he can, so he does.

Honestly, he’s not sure why he even bothers to make it more complicated than that.

\--

The Oilers come to town in early November. John is on the ice to kill a penalty when he suddenly realises the player across the dot is Stromer. He’s instantly thankful Ebs isn’t on the ice, and more so when Stromer leans in and asks, “Down to hang out later?” 

The linesman drops the puck. John, taken aback, loses. But it’s a quick shot from Nugent-Hopkins off the faceoff, one Greisser gloves easily, and they’re right back at the dot.

“I have plans,” he says, shortly. Stromer just laughs.

They clear the puck, and the game goes on, and Jordan scores their only goal. It’s not enough, but John still tells him, afterwards, that it felt perfect.

\--

John’s not sure anyone else, even Bails, notices the exact moment their season ends, but he does. Looking back, it’s three, really, but at the time he’d managed to excuse the first two as minor. They weren’t.

December hit; they lost to the Senators, of all teams, but it was close, and Greisser wasn’t quite himself. Things were fine.

Two more weeks ticked by, feeling fine, not great, and they gave up six to Detroit. Still, any team could win on any given night, that’s the beauty of hockey; someone has to be on the losing side. It was just another off-night for Greisser; no need to worry about the defense.

The game that really tips him off is a win - it takes overtime to beat Buffalo, and there are times in the game when it doesn’t even feel all that close. So that’s the season, he thinks, even if they’re nowhere near out of it yet.

But there’s some solace to be found with Jordan, and he’ll happily take it as often as he can.

\--

They’re in Edmonton in March, both teams all but eliminated, pretending they still have a shot, knowing they don’t. The fork is already in them, they’re done; all that’s left is to feel the last twist. There are nice signs for next year, sure, Barz and Beau playing well together - but it doesn’t feel very good _now_. 

John meets Stromer in the faceoff circle just three times.

“Want to hang out this time?”

“Still have plans,” John says, viciously jerking the puck back.

“Really? I know how you get on the road.”

“Plans,” John repeats, kicking the puck to Hicks, at the point.

“I didn’t realise ‘plans’ was code for ‘feelings’,” Stromer teases, knowingly.

John says nothing, just muscles him off the puck until Bails can swoop in and grab it.

Jordan scores in the shootout, a big fuck-you to all the fans in the building who’d believed he wasn’t good enough.

They still lose.

\--

Maybe he really does have feelings; he has time, on the way to Calgary, to think about this, sitting by himself, giving carefully bland looks to everyone who comes near him.

One: He cares about Jordan’s emotional well-being - but he’s the captain, and cares about the whole team like this; it proves nothing.

Two: He spends more time with Jordan than he ever has with anyone - but half of it is sex, and he doesn’t need feelings for that.

Three: He hadn’t hooked up with Stromer - but Jordan’s more accessible, and actually on his team; it would be more surprising if he had.

Four: When did he start thinking of Ebs as Jordan? He’d never once felt the urge to call Stromer Ryan - 

And John stops thinking, and lets himself feel.

He stands up, looks around. Jordan is also alone. He looks up when John sits next to him, and smiles. “What’s up?” he asks, putting his phone down.

John, never one to beat around the bush, looks at him seriously. “I’m sorry, I think I have feelings for you.”

And Jordan is still smiling. “It’s about time you noticed,” he said, patting John’s thigh. “Just to be clear, dating? Or would you prefer something else?”

“Dating,” says John, and Jordan gives his thigh a little squeeze.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Me: I'm going to write stories about TEAM under the guise of stories about PICK-UP LINES.  
> \- Also me: But what if I just write an entire story about John Tavares instead?  
> \- I bet he's exactly the kind of boring, overly-responsible guy who _would_ meet people at the airport tbh.  
>  \- I really fell back on RL contextualizing for this one which is a habit I thought I'd broken but oh well. All the game stuff, besides conversations, is real, and I now know exactly how many faceoffs these two have taken against him in their careers.  
> \- Actually Jordan shouldn't be jet-lagged since he went from west to east but maybe he took a red-eye flight? I don't know. Anyway travel really is exhausting, so.  
> \- For those curious about the last Detroit end note: This is the fic I had to finish in double-quick time to get Detroit typed up. I didn't manage to write the next fic before this one though, so it may be full of typos.


End file.
